Red
by ShiyaHawk
Summary: An OC-centric series. It's not always what you know, and as it turns out, it's not always who you know either. For Emma Stewart it was more like being at the right place at the right time on multiple occasions. It also meant having the stomach for the work. Maybe it was also a little bit about being ruthless and living in that morally gray area more than anything.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Yay I finally started it. Most chapters will be in a chronological order but some may not be. I will put a warning in the beginning of each chapter if it is linked to a chapter in _Moments Captured in Time_. Some Justice League characters will appear in future chapters.

* * *

She was a force of nature, reckless, and singularly driven to a fault. She no longer known by her given name; instead she was known by the many names, most of which she did not like in the least, that she earned on the job: the Red Death, the Punisher, Scarlet Killer, and so many more.

Everything else she had determined as she went. She was told that she was smart so she did things that smart people did. She read books, learned complex mathematics, and spent time on her studies. She was told that she was strong so she studied various martial arts and fighting styles and joined sports teams. She was told that she was hotheaded so she got into fights and argued with her parents, brother, teachers, peers, and sometimes even random people. She was told that she could never work in the real world with her attitude and temper, despite her intelligence, so she worked for private clients, where her skills would be used for varying jobs.

Her joke was that she was a cliché. The hardened shell of a woman who never smiled and stood like a stone statue while others _truly_ lived. But she was never told she was that so that's not who she was either.

She was exactly what they all said she was and she was, at the same time, none of it.

On the outside she was an athletic woman and not in the least displeasing to the eye. She favored casual clothing, jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, and she eschewed things feminine. She could count on one hand the times she had worn a dress and most of those times did not end in smiles. Come to think of it, they hadn't started with them either. She was lean, had toned muscles, and a few light scars were feathered across her body but most people didn't see enough of her to see all that.

On the inside, she was a woman who knew what she was good at and what she wanted. She didn't beat around the bush, did not apologize for who she was, and she had no hidden darkness about the shitty part of her life. She could care less about her family so it was quite difficult to actually miss them. Being raised around superheroes had sucked and ironically she was now an unlawful mercenary despite her upbringing. She did things that would give other people nightmares but she made peace with that whenever she cashed her checks.

For all intents and purposes, Emma was a perfectly normal, young woman. A normal, young woman who blew up buildings, assassinated people who went against her bosses, and fought her battles the way her nicknames implied.

But hot damn was she fun to be around.


	2. Running Away

_"Running away will never make you free."_

~Kenny Loggins

* * *

Emma skipped to the next song on her iPod and adjusted the small earbuds to fit more comfortably. She rhythmically tapped her finger against the seat to the beat of the older pop rock song that blasted through her earbuds. She was thankful that no one else was clued into her choice of music. She wanted to listen to something that felt comfortable to her and ironically her mother's odd choice of music always did the trick.

The train rattled along on its course. It had pulled out of the suburbs and moved into the cities until it would finally reach the heart of Gotham. During the fifteen-hour train ride from Detroit to Gotham, Emma couldn't quit biting her nails. They weren't particularly long to start out with so they were quickly turning into stubs.

Her feet tapped softly against the floor as she stared out the closed window at the passing buildings. Since stepping onto the first train with nothing more than her bookbag and carry-on suitcase, she hadn't paid much attention to anything. Although she was still focused on her immediate departure, she couldn't stop thinking about the one thing she didn't want to think about.

But she had made her decision. For better or for worse, she had left Detroit. She had completed the ten month accelerated program to get her associate's degree in psychology that was offered by the local community college. She now was enrolled in an accelerated five year program to get her master's. And what better place than Gotham to get a psychology degree. Despite the previous track record at Arkham Asylum, Gotham University had the best psychology program in the country. Maybe, if she got lucky, she would get an internship at the infamous asylum.

"Next stop, Gotham Central Station," the automated message called over the intercom.

Emma popped out of her daydream. One of her earbuds fell out as she straightened in her seat. She looked down at the open notebook sitting in her lap. Words filled the pages but she couldn't remember writing them down. Reading the first few lines only intensified her despair and she decided not to continue with the rest at the moment. There was no time to get homesick now. She was almost free.

A stewardess walked through the cabin, smiling at the passengers as she scanning their tickets. Emma had the last seat on the train and the woman was fast approaching her. She averted her eyes, hoping the woman would just leave her be. The last thing she wanted was to talk to a peppy stewardess.

Unfortunately Emma was out of luck.

"Miss," the stewardess said, leaning into her chair.

Emma simply ignored her.

"Miss. Excuse me, miss?"

Emma pulled out the other earbud, shut her notebook, and turned to face the woman. "Yeah?"

"Did you want anything else from the cart before we enter the station?"

"No," Emma curtly answered but then forcefully added, "Thank you."

"Here, let me scan your ticket," she said, reaching out her hand.

Emma bent down to retrieve her bag and then began rifling through it to locate the ticket.

"So, why are you traveling to Gotham?" the woman asked, making polite conversation.

"Just meeting up with a family friend," Emma said.

"That sounds fun," she said. Emma rolled her eyes. Yeah, her uncle was just a bundle of excitement to be around.

When Emma glanced up at her, the woman gave her an even bigger smile. "How long are you staying?"

"Uh..." She murmured, trailing off as if looking into her bag distracted her. "As long as I want, I guess. Haven't really thought that far. I'm coming here for school really. Though I'm probably staying after I'm finished school."

"Wow! You're just picking up and going just like that?" the stewardess asked, surprised.

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Emma reminded herself that she had made the right decision by leaving. She had to get away. She just needed to keep telling herself that.

"My summer break is over in two weeks and I just left home from Detroit," Emma told her, not sure why she felt like she had to justify it.

"Neat, so you're at a school in Gotham then?"

She finally located her ticket and handed it to the woman. Emma was ready for the woman to leave. "Yeah, Gotham University."

"That's a great school! My son always wanted to go there but we just couldn't afford a private school, you know?" She placed placed the scanner on the ticket and returned it to her.

"Sure," Emma said, not really understanding. She was lucky to have her uncle paying her entire tuition and any other cost that occurred during her stay on campus. She could have gone to any school really but she had set her sights on Gotham for the past few years. Though her mother and father were less then pleased that she was nestling herself in the heart of one of the most dangerous and crime-ridden cities, especially since the retirement of the Batman in 2019. Crime had skyrocketed in just the first six months of his absence.

The train began to slow as high-rises flew past the surrounding windows.

"That's my cue!" The stewardess jumped up as Emma breathed a sigh of relief. "Have a fun time at Gotham University," she called before bustling about through the cabin.

Emma stood and collected her two bags. The passengers were cast into darkness as they rolled into Gotham Central Station. As the train rattled to a stop on the tracks, she pushed her way through the crowd. She was more than ready to be off the train. A man swung his bag backward, catching her in the ribs, and she grunted.

"Sorry," the guy muttered, not even glancing at her.

Emma glared and lightly growled at the man. She knew she was on the shorter side but she wished people would be more considerate. She pushed past him and got off the train, struggling to bring air back into her lungs.

As the crowd headed for the exit, people jostled her on all sides. Relieved to be out of the fray, Emma lugged her bag with effort into the train station. It was white marble in every direction with a high-arch glass ceiling, enormous pillar entrance ways, and benched seating. Standing there to admire it all, Emma thought it was beautiful. Gotham City had really kept the place looking spectacular.

She had only been to Gotham once with her parents and brother when she was nine. Bruce Wayne had invited the founders for Thanksgiving, mostly to announce his retirement as Batman and it was also the first holiday he was spending without Alfred. That was the last time she had seen or heard from her Uncle Bruce. She had regretted not getting to see much more of the city when she was younger. Despite its reputation, Gotham City did have some very beautiful sights to see.

She craned her neck, looking around the giant room. Bruce was supposed to be picking her up. Emma wasn't about to try to traverse the Gotham subway system all by herself. Frowning, she turned around and ran smack dab into someone.

"Sorry," she muttered, looking up at the stranger. She only saw it a handful of times but she could recognize that scowl anywhere. "Uncle Bruce?"

"You grew," Bruce bluntly stated.

"Really now?" She sarcastically asked. "It's been nearly eleven years since you last saw me, of course I would've grown."

"You look like your mother."

Emma's frown deepened, "So I've been told."

"And you have her attitude," He gave her smirk as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad to see you made it here in one piece though. Shayera made it perfectly clear she would hunt me down like a dog and beat me to a bloody pulp with her bare hands if anything were to happen to you. John also threatened me but not as harshly. It's good to see that neither of them have changed over the years."

"Yeah right," Emma said with disinterest. "You know I'm-"

"Trying to get away from your family by coming here?" He asked as she promptly closed her mouth. "I know. I knew what your intentions were when you decided to come here."

Emma scowled momentarily as they began walking towards the exit. "Then why did you agree to all of this?"

Bruce looked at her for a moment before speaking, "Despite everything that's happened over the years I still consider the founding members as family, even though it may be considered estranged family. Also, your mother didn't make me your godfather for no reason."

"So she and Dad didn't have a good reason when they made the other founders mine and Rex's godparents as well?"

"Smart alec," He murmured. "You must have drove your parents insane."

"More like them driving me crazy," She commented as they now exited the building and headed towards the parking garage. "Why do you think I left?"

"Do _you_ truly know why?" He instead asked her.

"Well I," She began, "I...I guess I really don't. I just wanted to get away from them. Especially my mother, I couldn't stand being near her anymore."

"Why?"

"You damn well know why."

"Thanagarian Invasion didn't sit well with you?" He asked as he saw her face darken. He knew he had hit a nerve. "Get over it. Everyone else has."

"Not everyone," She muttered. There were plenty of people that still hated Hawkgirl for what she had done. She for one hated her mother for what she did. Emma didn't know how Rex forgave her. She certainly couldn't. The earth was nearly destroyed because of her mother. Shayera had lied for years. Emma could never put her trust or faith in a person like that. Emma was convinced that Shayera was bound to betray the Justice League and Earth again one day.

"Need help with anything?" Bruce asked, snapping her out of her train of thought, as they stopped in front of his car.

"No, I only have this," Emma motioned to her bookbag and suitcase.

"Alright put the stuff in the trunk," Bruce told her, motioning toward the back of the car. "Then get in. I don't like wasting time."

* * *

"So," Bruce began as they drove down the busy streets of Gotham, "How's Rex been?"

"Fine I guess," Emma monotonously said staring out the window. It was _always_ about Rex. No matter who she spoke to it was always about Rex, the little favorite.

"Care to elaborate?" Bruce asked, merging into traffic without a backward glance.

_What does he think he's driving the Batmobile? He's gonna kill himself pulling shit like that_, Emma thought as she unconsciously gripped the center console tightly.

Bruce momentarily glanced at her semi-shocked expression. He smirked as he sarcastically stated, "Sorry if I scared you."

"It'll take more than that to scare me," She shakingly said as she exhaled and released her death grip on the console. Bruce looked unconvinced. He took notice that the one thing Emma didn't seem to inherit was Shayera's ability to skillfully lie. "But Rex is doing fine. He's a senior in high school this year."

"So I can expect another Stewart running away to Gotham then?"

"No," Emma shook her head, "Rex wants to go in the superhero business. Dad's not too happy about it. He thinks he's too young."

"He is a bit young," Bruce said idly. "Shayera taught you how to fight though, didn't she?"

"Yeah, _mother_ did," She stated coldly. "Rex and I were taught to defend and handle ourselves in dangerous situations. Unlike Rex, who solely was trained by our parents, I went out of my way to learn different fighting techniques. I practice them in my spare time."

"You're planning on becoming a superhero?" He asked her.

"No, not in the least," She stated. "I just like to fight and, in turn, I want to know how to kick people's asses in as many different ways as possible."

"You plan on starting fights at Gotham University?" Bruce asked with both amusement and nostalgia. It was like he was sitting next to and having a conversation with Shayera. They both had the same bad attitude, same bad temper, and were just as battle hungry. He could only imagine what Rex was like now compared to the one he and John briefly met in the future.

"Only if someone wants to start something. I won't start an unnecessary fight without a good reason but I know how to end them," She then smirked. "I just realized that I can be your personal bodyguard while I'm here. See how lucky you are to have me here Uncle Bruce?"

"Yeah," Bruce responded with a roll of his eyes. "Lucky me."


	3. Right Place, Right Time

It's not always what you know, and as it turns out, it's not always who you know either. For Emma it was more like being at the right place at the right time on multiple occasions. It also meant having the stomach for the work.

The first right place and time was growing up around the Justice League. For better or worse, witnessing all of the heroes and villains with varying ethical codes created a moral compass that left a lot of gray area in her own ethics, despite the various values her parents tried to instill within her. The only detriment she experienced to doing whatever she wanted was when she was caught. Even then, with anything from twenty to thirty heroes around at any one time, it was easy enough to stay under the radar while in the Metro or Watchtower. Dealing with the guilt became easier over time and she sought greater thrills the older she got.

Her life of crime had started at a young age, when she would sneak into the Watchtower's cafeteria and steal sweets and other junk foods. Then she took some of her brother's toys and, when she was older, pass codes from the founders and other members of the Justice League. She took it upon herself to be the alpha so she started getting into fights at school. Fighting was where she excelled. And she learned fast that she didn't have to steal anything if she could intimidate others to do it for her.

Being smart helped a lot and, when she got to Gotham University, she found it unnecessary to change her style. She fit in with the self-described hard knocks, though she found them sophomoric and sycophantic. She fit in with the scholastic types because she could keep up with their intellect and she knew about the seedy underbelly of the world that they liked to dabble in on weekends with their parents' money. They felt safe around her, while also feeling a little dangerous.

They also had more money than she did and they were willing to _pay_ her to do the things that she was good at. The first time she picked up and delivered a package with supplies for splicing. It was implied that she was beneath those for whom she was doing the work for, so naturally she left a few bloody noses along the way. One of the noses belonged to a high-level dealer that was connected to notorious, underground organization in Gotham City.

The syndicate was displeased to hear about the scuffle. The dealer was punished for being beaten by a girl, and two large goons appeared at Emma's dorm one evening. The knock on the door was loud and abrupt; the hairs on the back of her neck stood, some primal force within her alerted her that something was wrong.

There were two things Emma knew: she could take a beating and she could deliver one. She didn't bother looking out the peephole; cracking her knuckles, she just opened the door with a savage grin, "Gentlemen?"

As luck may have it, the dorm was deserted that night. The Gotham Nighthawks had just decimated their most loathed rivals, the Metropolis Bulldogs, in the most crucial football game of the season. Who ever won that game would take first place and a slot in the playoffs. College students, being who they were, celebrated by going off campus with the entire football team, including the cheerleading squad to a few's delight, and decided to party the night away in celebration.

Emma, being the least sociable person, had drifted away right before the end of the game and returned to the dorms. The peace and quiet of everyone gone was refreshing for a change. Besides, she had gotten drunk before at other parties. She found no pleasure in being intoxicated, which didn't take long for her. She found it quite amazing that having Thanagarian genes in her didn't give her a better tolerance for alcohol, like it did for her mother. As fate would have it Emma could barely consume one standard drink of any size without going under the table.

Now the two men before her were large, for sure, and Emma felt sure that they each had well earned reputations. The biggest one smiled back and the smaller one stepped forward. They looked like a pair straight out of the old _Godfather_ movies she liked to occasionally watch.

"Hello there little miss."

"Little miss?" She quipped, her eyes level with the large man's gaze. It was just her and them with no on-campus security guards in sight. Emma silently thanked whatever gods there were for putting the odds in her favor.

"We understand you were responsible for-"

"I knocked over your boy, yeah." She leaned back against the door and nonchalantly slid a hand in the pocket of her sweatshirt. "You even teach him how to fight? Considering the type of business he's in, he should know how to hold his own. He was lucky I was holding back."

"We had to pay to correct the damage done to him. That means that, despite the money you paid us, we incurred a loss."

Emma rolled her eyes and widened the door with a shrug, demonstrating an invitation, "He got handsy. I warned him."

A look somewhere between bemusement and mild shock flickered over the small man's face at her action. The large one almost laughed at her brass but they entered all the same. The dorm room was sparse, filled primarily with simple furniture, a computer and laptop, and a lot of books. Thankfully she was in one of the few rooms that could only hold one student at a time. Meaning no roommate to notice any damaged or broken furniture.

"How do you intend to repay this debt girly," the short man got to his point, stepping inside and turning toward her, his face all business now.

She gave him a confused smile and held her arms up in question, "Debt?"

"We had to pay to correct the mandible and maxilla damage done by having his jaw wired shut, the five broken ribs, and the shattered knee cap. So once again that means that, despite the money you delivered in exchange for the goods, we have incurred a loss. How do you intend to repay the debt?"

Emma leaned against the door frame, looking entirely too amused. The big guy clearly did not approve of her expression because he stepped forward with his hands folded in front of his torso; she could tell that his muscles were flexed. He was probably also on steroids, which made her chuckle to think of some of the side-effects.

Wrong move on her part.

"I am a friendly man so I give you one more chance to answer correctly. We hear that you're smart so let's see how true that is. How do you intend to repay the debt?"

She nodded slowly and inhaled deeply, "I...don't."

Silence stretched among the three of them; she knew enough about groups of people to know that the two men were having a silent conversation about what to do with her. She waited patiently, peeking out the door to see if anyone else was joining this little party. Not surprisingly, the two had come alone. She was, after all, just one young woman. A pity really in her perspective. As the saying went: the more, the merrier.

She heard the familiar sound of joints popping and she slid in and shut the door.

"Well then, you leave us with no choice."

There was a subtle calm that Emma found when she was about to fight and she felt it distinctly that night. The following seconds felt like minutes, as the large man stepped forward; she watched as his torso tensed, his fist pulled back, and she ducked low, her own fist meeting with the man's sternum.

It was funny to her even then how neither of the two had thought to question the fact that her hand had slipped into a pocket. And that her hand had been clenched in a fist since then. The force of her first, backed up solidly by the brass knuckles in her grip, was enough to knock the air out of the man's lungs, along with a little bit of blood.

Gravity did the rest.

The smaller man's eyes widened marginally but Emma had perhaps misjudged him. He was fast and she barely had time to react when he lashed out with a vicious kick aimed right at her midsection. She twisted awkwardly, feeling the muscles pull uncomfortably in her back, and it wasn't quite enough; the pointed metal tip of the man's boot connected against her lower back, forcing her forward and likely leaving a bruise.

She rolled forward with the momentum and came up by a small entrance table. She grabbed one of the legs and turned in time to see the short man coming at her, ready to lash out with a knife. She didn't bother trying to keep a hand on the table. She tossed it forcefully and watched as it crashed and shattered against the man's torso.

Emma didn't wait for them to recover. She stomped the heel of her sneakers into the large man's face to ensure he was unconscious and used a recently detached leg of the table to knock out the smaller one. When she felt confident they were down, she rifled through the short man's pocket, finding a cellphone in the left chest pocket along with a large wad of cash.

She stood then, leaning against her computer desk, as she scrolled through the contacts of the man's phone. There were a few contacts without names but only one that had been contacted recently, so she chose the last number and listened as it rang.

There was a click on the other end but no one spoke.

"This is that girl you just tried to get some cash out of for _incurring a loss_. I have two of your guys here who are...uh..._unable_ to complete their assigned duties."

The pause on the other end was filled with palpable ire, "Excuse me?"

Emma paused for a few moments. She knew that voice. She definitely knew it, "Look your two goons failed, miserably. They are lying in two mangled piles on my floor. I wanted to let you know to spare them the inevitable embarrassment. They honestly never stood a chance."

"Do you realize what this means?"

"Do _you_? Look, I'm sorry that the dealer bullied your partner into making you pay his medical bills. That sucks but that's not my fault. He grabbed my ass; I kicked his. Now, the way I see it, you can keep sending cannon fodder here or you can see this as a bright opportunity."

"Opportunity?"

"I'm cheap and I'm good. And clearly these two will need someone to step in to pick up the slack for a few days. Or do you have something else in mind in order for me to pay off Dr. Abel Cuvier?" She paused as she grinned. "Well Mr. Powers?"

"How did you..." There was another long pause until, "Keep this phone and take the men outside. We _will_ be in touch."

So maybe it wasn't just about being in the right place at the right time. Maybe it was also a little bit about being ruthless and living in that morally gray area more than anything.


	4. Refinement

Refinement, as Ravager named it, was not an easy process for Emma.

According to him, Emma was reckless, rough around the edges, took unnecessary risks, and was a disaster on two legs. She thought he was complimenting her until he began providing detailed reports after each job they completed, listing with exhausting accuracy the mistakes or risks she had taken. In her defense, every single job had been a success since she started.

"Powers and Cuvier's associates don't need the extra attention-"

"This isn't the _Godfather_, Grant. Everyone and their mother knows that Powers and Cuvier are in the splicing business together. Powers is funding Cuvier and in return Cuvier uses his creations to deal with the company heads that rival Powers' company. It also gives Powers some boosted security in his facilities. The various police departments generally stay out of the way if they want to keep getting their money. So there's nothing to worry about."

Grant Wilson deeply sighed as he pinched his temples. Why did Derek Powers have to hire _him_ to be the babysitter for this lunatic? "Not if you insist on destroying _everything_ in your path Red! One day you're going to attract too much attention."

She bit her tongue at that point; for all of the bullshit she was being fed, she had at least learned that eschewing conversation entirely usually worked in her favor. On the plus side, it seemed to piss off Ravager to no end, and therefore provided her with a special kind of pleasure usually reserved for winning large sums of money.

Her silence game sparked a battle of wills, and while Ravager was patient, she was stubborn. They sat and stared at one another, each of them sizing up the opponent on the field of mental battle.

* * *

Perhaps he was surprised but Emma was not at all to find themselves stretched out on the couch an hour later, still a little sweaty from their recent foray into more carnal forms of struggle. Grant cleared his throat, as he looked sideways at Emma, who had just finished putting her clothes back on and was staring idly at the ceiling while dancing fingertips over the material of the couch, "Um...I'm not entirely sure why that happened."

"We're not unattractive people and our bodies were revved up. All that energy had to go somewhere Grant."

He cleared his throat and turned his own eyes to the ceiling, "You realize that this creates a problem, right?"

"Not really," She simply replied with a shrug.

He sighed, perhaps a form of resignation, "Can I safely assume that you'll simply ignore this one too Red?"

At this, she turned to face him, "I don't see what the problem is."

"This is unprofessional and creates a conflict of interest."

Her face twisted into a mirthful, silent grin, "You've become a lapdog for Powers, sent here to put me on a short leash so they don't have to keep boosting the local economy with wads of bribery funds. I'm a mercenary who is admittedly enthusiastic about what I do, sometimes to the point of excess. You honestly think they would be surprised to hear that I rode you like I was auditioning for a rodeo? I think he doth protest too much."

That seemed to shut him up.

"Not bad, by the way," she added, and in truth it was simply an afterthought. She let her mind linger on this for a while.

She sat and draped a lazy arm over the knee she pulled to her chest, sneaking a glance at Ravager to ensure he was, in fact, still alive. He seemed to be breathing but his face registered part surprise and part dread. She rolled her eyes.

Emma could feel his eyes following her, as she moved around, giving her that tingling feeling on the back of her neck. She stopped at the counter, leaned against it, and turned, "Like what you see?"

She must have cracked something in his shell of decorum because when her eyes fell on him, he gave her a wolfish grin, "I do. And I'm starting to think that if I already broke a rule, might as well focus on asking for forgiveness later."

A laugh erupted from her at this, "Well, then. Let's not waste any time."

* * *

Three hours later, Emma and Ravager peered through an open window, overlooking a shorter building across the street. Ravager thumbed through a folder; Emma chewed on her bottom lip, her fingers drumming on the sill, while he ran through the information with her.

"All we need, then, is the combination to the safe in the back. Looks like there are...three people that know it."

She nodded absentmindedly, watching the shadows of people move through the building that she _should_ be in. A sharp pinch on her arm brought her out of her reverie and into the focus of her personal ire, which she turned onto Ravager in an instant, "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Getting your attention. Listen to what I am saying. Three people know the combination and that is the _only information we need._"

"What's in the safe?"

He visibly prepared for another bout of her persistence, "It doesn't matter. That's not the issue here, Red."

The muscles in her back flexed perceptibly, as she swallowed the news. And then she spit it back out, "It _does_ matter. If it's money or if it's information there might be other ways to get it. Or there might be a better way to convince them to give us the combination."

She could tell that he was debating whether or not to tell her something. She crossed her arms and turned to face him fully, "What?"

"We were thinking-"

"_We_?"

He paused, ignoring the question, then continued, "That you could just seduce the owner and he would slip up and open it in front of you."

There was a moment of silence, both expectant and awkward, before Emma doubled over with laughter. Ravager crossed his arms, waiting for her to finish with a disgruntled grimace. When she recovered, still chuckling, she shook her head, "No...no way. Are you insane? Have they met me? What am I supposed to do? Go in there and kick his ass into wanting to sleep with me and then just casually ask him what's in the safe? I'm sure that will go over well and he won't be suspicious _at all_."

Grant pressed his lips into a thin line, "You seduced _me_."

"You're easy," She shrugged.

"The same exact thing could be said about you," He muttered.

Emma either ignored this or she didn't hear him, "We spend a lot of time together; you get easily frustrated with me."

"Maybe if you went in and just didn't talk?"

This cost him a glare from the woman. Already getting impatient, she pointed at the building across the street, "You're a goddamn idiot if you think anyone of those people would trust me enough to just open a safe in front of me. And besides, it would take a _long_ time to get any idea of what is in there."

He pinched his nose with a sigh, "What do you suggest then? Blow up the safe?"

She grinned at that, "No but now that you mention it..."

"No blowing up the safe."

She pouted and watched the building again. Her first instinct here was to blow up the safe just to do it but she also realized that she needed to grow up a little bit at some point. Here was the promise of some lucrative, steady work, and she was not stupid. Letting out a sigh, she glanced over at him, "I think I could work over the woman just barely and get what we need."

Ravager paused, "What do you mean work her over?"

Emma rolled her eyes, "Now you have a problem with what I do?" When he didn't answer right away, she sighed, "Probably just scare her a bit, that's all."

"You wouldn't break under pressure."

"Yeah, well, I'm not normal. Ready to do this? If you want some seducing to happen, I suggest you go in and get her out. I'll take it from there."

He still hesitated, but finally, with a nod, he turned to go do as she asked. When he passed her, she smacked him on the ass with a wink, "Oh, come on. No turning back now."

* * *

Emma tightened the final strap holding the woman in the chair. The woman, probably only a few years older than her, was still unconscious from the drugs, so Emma didn't feel it was rude to be so cheery about her job at the moment. Securing everything, she stepped back, tilting her head to admire her work, then sat in the chair opposite the woman to wait.

Ravager appeared in the doorway, fidgety and, frankly, annoying. Emma sent him a biting look in warning and he slunk back into the shadow of the hallway beyond.

It took longer than she would like but the woman began to stir after about a half hour. When she did, Emma leaned back, propping her feet on the small table next to her.

"Wh...where..." the woman began, her voice slightly hoarse.

Emma smiled, "You're not at liberty to know our current location but I can tell you how you'll get out."

The woman's eyes raised slowly and met Emma's, "Who are you?"

"I'm afraid that's oh for two, my dear."

Emma waited, she was a gracious host, for the woman to go through the motions. Her eyes swept the room for familiar sights, any chance of escape, and an idea of how many people were here. The last thing the woman looked at were Emma's tools on the table. Then they flicked back to Emma, questions and fears written on her face.

The half-Thanagarian shrugged, "That's up to you. Like I mentioned, I can tell you how you'll get out."

The woman looked at the tools again, clearly not feeling comforted by Emma's simple statement.

"You should know how this works. You tell me what I want to know and I skip all of this," she motioned at the table.

"What do you want to know?"

Emma smiled, "The safe. How does my employer get into it?"

At this, the woman's eyes widened fractionally, and she bit her bottom lip, "If I tell you, my husband will kill me."

"If you don't tell me, your husband won't get the chance. And then he'll be next or your son. He knows the combination, too, right?"

That did the trick.

* * *

The two mercenaries sat across from one another at the diner. Emma was almost unrecognizable when not on the job. Her black work gear was replaced with jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of worn-out converse. She was face-deep in her cheeseburger when Grant chose to speak, "I don't know how I feel about our last job."

Her only answer was to shrug while she chewed.

"I mean, the employer won. You didn't blow up the safe so that was good. But that woman could pick you out of a line-up with her eyes closed."

Emma licked the mustard off the corner of her mouth and waited patiently for him to continue.

"I guess what I'm saying is that...maybe...you have a way of doing things for a reason."

Silence stretched between them, and Grant could see a war between amusement and anger flitting through her eyes. She cleared her throat, opened her mouth, and took another bite of her burger, obviously choosing her words. When she had swallowed, she looked up, "Are you fricking kidding me, you say this now?"

Grant cleared his throat and reached his hands out, palms up, "Look, I was hired to show you how to do things more discreetly."

"Yeah, and as you saw, discreet is a little tricky sometimes. Besides, what have you taught me, really?"

"You certainly don't blow up as many things now..."

Emma rolled her eyes and polished off the burger, then took her time nursing the soda in front of her before speaking again, "So it's much better that the mark's wife knows my face?"

"Well I know some people," he stammered. "And I'm sure Powers can protect y-"

"Don't even say it. I don't need his protection or yours. I can protect myself just fine; I'm just annoyed that this is still going on. I get the job done and if they're going to insist that you follow me around like a lost puppy then I will take my highly-qualified and attractive ass to a competitor. And I won't think twice about it. You know it. I've also been mighty patient but this last job was bullshit. I know it. Now you know it. Your call here, Grant."

He began to argue but she stood, threw some bills on the table, and began to walk away. A thought paused her and she turned, "I'm giving Powers twenty-four hours to make up his mind. Then I'm in the wind."

Grant could do nothing but watch her exit the diner and disappear down the street. He gulped down his own beverage and fumbled with his phone to find an answer for her, hoping beyond hope that his employer wouldn't be stupid.


	5. History Repeats Itself

**A/N:** Reading _Alien_ Chapter 5 is necessary to see the connection.

* * *

Bullets jammed into and blew chunks out of the concrete column Emma was using as a shield. She spun around, popped two shots off, and rolled behind a car for cover.

"Damn it! Damn, damn, damn, damn it," Emma cursed. She was blinded by searing pain in her left shoulder. Five seconds of complete silence passed. She forcefully slowed her breathing and concentrated. The faster her heart pumped, the faster she would bleed out.

Something small clattered on the ground, resonating throughout the parking garage. She sprung up, no one there. Emma spun around and was sent flying by a punch to the face. The back of her head hit a side mirror hard. The man was already bounding for the pistol that was dropped on the floor.

Emma took this chance to tackle the man to the ground. An elbow smacked her in the nose. Once, twice, three times, and she loosened her grip enough to let the man escape. Tasting blood in her mouth, she sprinted for the man. The man reached for the gun and turned around but only squeezed off one off-target round before the pistol was kicked out of his hands. He turned to chase after it but Emma grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tugged, causing the man to lose his balance, falling on the back of his head.

Emma took the chance to race after her own gun. Scooping it up, she turned around and aimed. The man was already up and sprinting towards her. Emma's vision was already getting blurry and her limbs were getting heavier. It was now or never!

She squeezed off three shots, one followed by two quick consecutive shots. She collapsed onto her knees in pure exhaustion.

She knelt there panting, her heart refusing to stop racing. The man was still standing but, as two crimson flowers blossomed on his chest, it was apparent he was already dead before he hit the ground. Time stood still as the man fell and made a thud as he hit the floor. However, the thud was accompanied by a second thud from across the garage. What was that? Confused, Emma dragged herself off the ground. She staggered over to a teenage girl laying in a pool of her own blood. She was standing over her latest victim, killed by a ricochet bullet.

Emma stared down at the girl. She frowned, truthfully it was a real shame. The girl looked young, around fifteen or so. Though the girl had no business being in the parking garage, especially at that time of night. The girl brought it upon herself. It wasn't her fault the girl had been standing there like an idiot during a shootout.

"Not my kid, not my problem," She coldly muttered as she turned and walked away.


	6. Number One

Emma had almost missed the job. Some faceless drone, likely one that had only heard the rumors of her, had merely slipped the information on a small, worthless scrap of paper, under her door. She had walked over it, stepped on it, even tracked it into another room before realizing it was there. She made a mental note to tell her contacts that if they couldn't have a messenger call or leave a substantially sized envelope, they best skip her and go on to their number two...no, the number two had been taken out...the number three, then.

_~Padparadscha sapphire, 350 carats, in transit Wednesday at 5 pm. Come armed._

Then there were a set of coordinates and those were followed swiftly by Emma's bitter annoyance. The paper must have been sent on Monday but here it was Tuesday night, almost midnight on Wednesday, and she was only now coming into _intentional_ contact with the information. Her anger was palpable as she crumpled the paper and threw it behind her.

Perhaps she was a bit rough with the map when she pulled it out of her drawer labeled "planning". The drawer itself was extremely cluttered and rarely-used. The map was marked in a myriad of places, ragged around the edges, and the only bit of her planning drawer that had ever really been used.

"I think I need a new map, at least get a digital one," She muttered to herself, chewing on her bottom lip, as she scanned the street that the coordinates had indicated.

The only reason she took this job at last notice was of the price tag. The stone was easily in the seven, perhaps even, the eight digits. Getting a cut of a multi-million dollar gem would hopefully be worth the trouble. Though she didn't anticipate much trouble in this job. It was simple. Get the stone and, just as quickly, get out.

* * *

Emma loathed working with others. She had done it only a handful of times since nailing the coffin on her so-called partnership with Ravager, that lasted for nearly seven years, just two years ago. Remembering her time with the mercenary made her growl, which in turn made the contemptible coworker perk up and look at her expectantly.

"What's with the growling?" The man, she didn't bother with names, she never bothered to offer hers during any job, glared at her.

"None of your damn business so don't worry about it," Her counterpart frowned and he returned to staring out the cafe window, clearly becoming impatient. She sighed, "Calm down, we've got about," she trailed off, eying the clock on the wall, "Fifteen minutes yet."

He sniffed, raking a hand through his terribly bleached hair, "I hate waiting."

This managed to drive a smile out of her, "Well that is at least one thing we have in common."

Emma shifted in her seat, improving her view of the street. The man across from her shifted as well though uncomfortably. It was rare that people felt comfortable around her anyway, her reputation tended to precede her. The man had been a bit jittery since they met at the cafe; the coffee certainly wasn't helping him.

"The problem," she paused, when he jumped at the sound her voice. Her eyebrow raised by a fraction and she continued, "With these sorts of jobs is that I often feel it would be better if I found a way to fence it myself. More profitable for me anyway."

She said this flippantly, silently gauging his reaction. As she expected, he seemed worried, and she could imagine all of the little voices playing in his mind. An amused smile flitted over her features and she shrugged happily, searching for the car once again. This could prove interesting.

The next twenty minutes were spent in silence. Emma distracted herself with counting cars on the street, judging the distance between where the jewelers' shop was and where the supposed drop off point was. She calculated the time it would take her to walk, run, or cartwheel between them. And then she saw the vehicle.

She tapped the man's leg under the table, causing him to jump nearly a foot, and pointed through the window before standing and making her way toward the door. When he approached her, she spoke to him, not a whisper but soft enough to not be heard, "Clear on the plan? You stop the car and I do the rest."

The man simply nodded. Emma smiled at him, a warm smile, one that said 'of course you do'.

The unmarked, black car approached the cafe, slowing to avoid a car pulling out into the road. At that point Emma approached, striding confidently toward the car and tapping loudly on the tinted window of the rear passenger side. The car slowed further and her accomplice then approached the driver side, similarly tapping, though with a gun.

The driver, as Emma knew he would, hesitated, teetering on stopping to preserve his life or gunning it to preserve his life later. In that moment she opened the door, finding the back to be empty, and her partner did the same with the driver's door. The man pulled the driver out. Emma watched him slide in behind the wheel. Wait a second, that wasn't part of the plan. As he turned around she slammed the door shut and quickly backed away from the car.

The rear window exploded in a shower of glass, just as she ducked behind a nearby parked car. With a second shot fired off, the car sped off. She started counting, knowing that she had only a moment or two before the people in the other car would realize what had happened. The black car turned haphazardly around the corner just as a second vehicle came racing toward the cafe. Emma took a breath, shook herself out, and jumped out in front of it.

The impact was not pleasant. She turned in time to avoid serious injury, of course, but the blunt collision still knocked the wind out of her. She staggered, bent toward the vehicle, and felt her feet leave the ground. She rolled on the hood and she flew forward when the driver screeched to a halt. She hit the ground with a sharp thud, and she heard, more than saw, the driver's door open and footsteps approach.

A face swam before her vision. If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that she was not entirely prepared for that much of a blow. But her senses came back in time. The man was leaning down, asking if she was okay. She smiled, grabbed his tie, and pulled him forward. The driver gasped as a knife contacted with his chest and, if she calculated correctly, into his heart. With her own blood staining things, no one would notice when the driver's spilled over her hand. She staggered up, pushed him in between the two cars she had jumped out from, and also pocketed the switchblade. To any bystander that could actually see anything, it would appear she was simply angry.

She took a quick look around, not even one witness that could clearly say what happened. Perfect. She limped to the car, slid in behind the wheel, and checked the rear view mirror. Her eyes narrowed. Target acquired, she shut the door, and sped off down the street.

"Who...what..."

She swerved around a slower moving vehicle and reached her hand back, palm held up, "Sapphire please."

The man, a bloated, pale, and clammy excuse of a man, stammered at her, trying to question her and refuse her all at once.

She rolled her eyes, looking at him through the mirror, "Really? You really think your pandering will help at this point? You realize I just ran in front of and got hit by a _fast_ moving vehicle to get here, right? You think you have any means of stopping me from just taking what I want? I could just shoot you and get it over with right now."

He started to speak but she held up a finger, wagging it at him, "No! I will finish! The entire left side of my body hurts. I'm pretty sure at least one bone is broken. At the very least I have a dislocation. I am _not_ in the mood to hear you whine about how much you could pay me. Trust me, I know _exactly_ what that stone is worth and I will decide what to do about it. I generally have very little patience so I am asking you politely. Give me the sapphire now!"

At the end of her rant, she narrowly avoided a collision with a vehicle, as she ran a red light, "Oops."

She held her hand out once more and it was only seconds before she heard a case being snapped open. A heavy weight settled into her palm. She glanced back, ensuring it was the gem, then pulled it toward her face to scrutinize it.

"You'd better not have tried to fake me out," she muttered, her eyes flicking between the gem and the road. Her speed had been creeping up and she caught a glimpse of the white of the man's knuckles behind her. She smiled, satisfied that the gem was real, and she pulled over, screeching to a halt.

The man behind her let go of his last meal, the acrid smell of vomit permeating the small space.

"Gross," She grimaced and opened the door, "Nice doing business with you." She hefted the stone in salute, then slipped it into the bag she brought with her.

Emma began doubling back the way she had come, albeit a slightly less public route and with a prominent limp still in her step. She gritted her teeth, determined to work through it. There was one small piece still left to pick up; that traitorous wretch.

The car barreled past her while she was on the phone, giving the word that the job was done and reading some poor sap the riot act about who they hired to help her with these gigs. Her eyes tracked the black car and a growl began in her throat.

The brake lights still worked, she mused, when the car stopped, skidding at the sudden application of them. She started toward the vehicle, reaching into the bag, her fingers curling around the gun. The driver side opened and the young man stood. The fool was slow though and he hadn't even raised his own weapon yet. Emma guessed he couldn't walk and chew at the same time either.

Emma looked down the barrel of her gun at him, "So who do you _really_ work for?"

He laughed in response.

"I just spent almost an hour with you. I know you're not ballsy so let's try again. Who do you work for?"

He was shaking but it appeared he wouldn't talk. Emma shrugged, not in the mood, and shot him square in the head. _Must have been his first rodeo_, she thought, turning on her heels and walked away, not sparing a second thought.

* * *

"They found him dead in the street!"

Emma leaned forward, pressing her palms firmly onto the wood of the desk, "You _are_ kidding me, right? He was going to steal the gem from you. He also tried to kill me."

"He was second best-"

Emma held up her hand to interrupt, "Third best."

Her boss sighed, "Third best fine. Still, you are slowly whittling down the others and that doesn't help us much."

Emma stepped away, the limp still evident, now much worse. She narrowed her eyes, fished in the bag and pulled out the gem, "So if I just walked out of here right now with this, that would be okay because it wouldn't be a challenge to find someone to both replace and go after me?"

She began backing away, smiling when the man behind the desk stood suddenly, flabbergasted at the very least.

"N-no, I didn't mean that. You must know that," he stammered, "I'm very grateful Mr. Powers loaned you to us. You've been an irreplaceable asset for the past month. Most of the things we have done couldn't have been accomplished without your talents."

"Great! Then I expect 25% more than we agreed upon for saving this from the grubby hands of your other employee."

He swallowed hard but then simply nodded. Emma smiled again and tossed the gem. They both watched it sail, a sweat breaking out on her boss's head, and then it landed on the cushioned chair in front of the desk. It wobbled, then settled, and she heard the man let out a breath. Giving him a mock salute, she turned and exited.

* * *

The check was mostly worth it. It more than paid the medical bills; there had been a dislocation, severe bruising, and three broken bones. There was a little tension about their number three no longer being available for work but that had been smoothed over with a little demonstration of the weight of a recently procured gemstone.


	7. Set Up

**A/N:** This chapter is my baby. I've been writing and working on this chapter for over five months. I started this chapter before I really had an outline for the _Red_ series. A lot of the concepts in the _Red_ series are based around this sole chapter.

* * *

At first Emma just thought she was losing her knack for the job. She knew there were rogue mercenaries and assassins out there that didn't work for her employers and maybe she was losing her touch so much that, when they needed a hit taken out, they were hiring outside help. But if that were the case, the higher ups would send someone else to do the job and just get rid of her.

It was even more confusing, though, that she was getting the credit for all these jobs someone was beating her to. She silently took it, not wanting to admit someone out there was better than her. Or worse yet, that someone who was better than her was stalking her and she didn't know how to deal with it. Her pride wouldn't let her do that, so she remained silent about it, just smiling when she was given praise for the jobs.

Though, she was determined this time to get there before this other person did. She had been handed the file on the person and set out right then to do it. Normally she spent about a week following the person, learning their daily habits, sometimes even becoming someone new and getting to know them. But when someone out there was trying to one up her in a very messed up way, she needed to get there first.

The man she was targeting tonight owned an up and coming factory and his office over looked the work floor. It was after hours but she knew from the file that he stayed late doing paperwork. He seemed like an all around good guy from what the file said but it seemed like someone, Powers, didn't like the pressure this new company was putting out.

She slid into the darkness of the work floor and looked up at the windows that allowed the mark to watch his company operate. There were lights flickering within, like a fire was burning in the office. She didn't know the layout of the factory or his office so he very well could have a fireplace, which seemed a bit unusual.

She smiled to herself and followed the shadows to the stairs that led up to the office. She was quick and quiet, moving through the darkness as the pro she was. As she approached the door, she pulled her gun from the holster on her hip and held it up as she slid along the wall. She took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. She turned it slowly and sighed in relief when it was unlocked. She hated doing the whole door kicking thing since it left evidence of a break in and knocking had gotten her almost shot before when she was a rookie.

As she'd turned the handle slowly, she pushed the door open and entered the room, gun drawn. What she saw in the room stopped her in her tracks. In the chair over at the desk was the man she was sent to kill, bent over his papers, blood dripping onto the floor from the corner of the desk. The glow was indeed from a fireplace but she didn't even notice its crackling in greeting. They'd beaten her again; the mystery killer had beat her to yet another hit. How did they do it? How did this person know what she was up to?

"Ah, Red, my sweet little flower. You've made it at last," The mocking words floated into her ears as a pair of arms wrapped around her body, one around her hip and the other pressing a gun to the underside of her chin.

She froze and took a deep steady breath. She knew that voice and she knew it well, even though it had been five years since she'd last heard it. "Grant," she breathed the name.

The man behind her chuckled and tilted her head to the side with the gun. "You remember me," It was a simple statement but the words held such menace that an involuntary shiver ran down Emma's spine.

"What do you want?"

"Oh I think you know what I want," He snickered and nuzzled the nape of her neck and the gun began a slow path from her neck, over her stomach, and ran against her leg.

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. He wasn't going to hurt her, she knew that much. No matter what he had done in the past, he never had, never could hurt her. His anger would collide with everything around her but leave her miraculously untouched. The thought wasn't comforting though. He was still touching her.

"So you're the one who's been hitting all my marks?"

He snickered and rubbed the barrel of his gun against her thigh. She could feel his finger on the trigger. Unsure if the safety was on or not, she didn't dare move.

"Who else would it be, darling? Who else would know you so well?"

"Paxton," she said without missing a beat. She knew how he'd react. All it was now was waiting for his reaction.

She shouldn't have counted down from three because he exploded right on one.

Ravager pulled the gun off her leg, spun her towards one of the chairs in front of the fire, and forcefully shoved her down. "Paxton?! Paxton Powers?! You think that rich, scumbag knows you better than I know you, Red? I know everything about you!" He stomped over towards her chair then leaned down and grabbed the arms of it, his face less than an inch from hers. She could taste his breath, the clean minty taste he always seemed to hold on to even hours after brushing.

"I know everything about you! Everything! I know every last damn curve of your body and flaw in your personality! I know your weaknesses, your strengths, and I worship every single one! I know all of your secrets!" He pushed off the chair, moving the piece of furniture back a few inches, then walked across the room to get away from her. "Do you hear that?" He said as he stopped in front of the desk and grabbed the back of the dead man's head and lifted it. "She thinks Paxton knows her better than I do. What do you think?"

He stared at the former mark as if he were actually waiting for a reply from it. He then laughed. "That's right! You can't talk! You're dead!" He dropped the head with a loud thud. When he turned, the woman he had been hunting was gone from her chair.

Emma had taken the chance to slip out of the room while the deranged man talked to the dead man. She was running through the work floor when his voice echoed behind her. She took a short moment to look back, comforted that he was hanging out of a window in the office and not chasing after her.

"Emma! I'll get you back! You can run all you want but I will get you!"

She didn't look back again until she was home.

* * *

The next evening, Emma walked into the main base and headed for her first in command's office. He'd sent her a message earlier in the day, stating that she needed to come in for a new assignment. A second message followed right after the first, telling her that she did very well on her assignment the night before. She had frowned at the second message, hating that she was taking credit for kills Grant had made. It had been different when she didn't know who was doing it but it made her feel dirty knowing the truth. Dirty and really pissed off.

She came to the decision as she took the elevator down into the underground building that she was going to tell her first in command what had really been going on. She hated having to admit she hadn't been making these kills and she would probably end up on probation with some stupid Probation Shadow following her on her missions for the next year or two but at least then she'd have someone watching her back encase Grant showed up again.

She stepped off the elevator and with her head held high, she glided down the hall. The doors she passed all looked the same but she knew the subtle differences between them. They were all made to look the same in case someone from the skyscraper above them somehow ended up in the underground base. Derek Powers didn't want any names on doors or anything to show that the building was even being used as anything more than a dust collector. It would ruin everything they worked for in keeping it a secret.

She stopped in front of the door for her commanding officer and slid her card into the slot next to the door. The scanner within the slot would let the man inside know she was there. After that it would only be a matter of seconds before the door buzzed and she could walk in. And that was what happened. The door buzzed and she steeled herself to say what she had to. She opened the door, stepped in, then froze.

She had a brief moment of déjà vu but it passed in a moment as she stared at Grant sitting in one of the chairs at the desk of her superior. All of her previous intentions were wiped away as she whispered in confusion, "What?"

The superior behind the desk stood, a broad smile on his face, and motioned to the other seat. "Have a seat, please," The man she worked under was in his fifties, white haired, and despite all the killing he'd done in his life, always wore a smile and a gray suit.

"Why is Ravager here?" She asked as she slowly took the seat offered.

The white haired man smile brightened, "You two are going to be working a case together."

"I don't need help," Emma said, appalled. She didn't need any kind of help from anyone to get any kind of case done. She especially didn't want _his_ help.

"Unfortunately you do for this one. You're being sent after a senator and the only way to get close to him is in a pair. And what better pair? You two worked so well together before. It was Ravager's suggestion and a mighty fine one at that."

"Sir, we're not together anymore and haven't been for five years," She didn't have to spare a sideways glance to know what expression was on Grant's face. He was going to win and he knew it. He was probably wearing a tauntingly triumphant smirk.

"Red, there is no arguing this. You and Grant are working this. You two are the best we have who know each other so well. I will not take no for an answer. You have never turned down a job before and you will not turn this one down," He was actually being firm with her and she hated it.

"I will not work with my ex! Don't you think there's a conflict of interest here or something?"

"_Red_," Her superior said warningly.

Emma knew what was going on. Grant had a way with people and god only knew how long he had been there before she arrived. She sent a look at Grant that would have killed him if looks could do such a thing, then quickly got up from her chair and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

"I'll go get her. I'll make her understand," Grant said in a slightly mocking tone but the older man didn't catch it. Grant got up from his seat and left the room, speed walking to catch up to her. "Oh Emma..." He taunted and she could hear the smirk in his voice. "I told you, didn't I? I told you I would get you my sweet little blossom. And now I have."

"Screw you, Grant!"

"Just name the place and time and I will be there!" He snickered but straightened up. "Seriously though, how' s my little Jaye doing? I see that she looks so much like me. Oh wait, that's right, you probably wouldn't know. After all you dumped her off onto your parents so they could raise her."

She covered her ears, acting as though that would drown him out, "Shut the hell up!"

"I'm just speaking the truth darling. You can't even handle the son you have with Paxton and ignore him as well. You're great mother material, has anyone ever told you that?"

Emma stepped on the brakes and spun quickly, her hand flying towards his face, stopping barely an inch away from his cheek. She had to keep her cool or at least look like she was. "Don't you dare bring them into this. I may be the world's worst mother but at least I thought about them first. I knew they deserved better than me; that's why I left them. I didn't want to screw them up," She said with anger dripping from each word.

"Oh you're such a saint. That really touches my heart," He said in a mocking tone as he patted his chest. "I might as well start calling you Mother Teresa. What do you think honeybunch?"

"You're an insane jackass, that's what I think," She huffed as she stared at him, her emerald eyes glaring into his icy blue ones. "I liked you better when you were normal, before the H.I.V.E. got to you. Whatever they did to you made you insane."

Grant just smirked and brought her hand up, pressing her palm against his face and nuzzling it. Her heart actually fluttered at the tenderness he was showing her and for a moment she forgot what was going on. That was until he spoke again. "Baby cakes, I never was normal," He said the words like he would if he were admitting he loved her. He then leaned in, "And neither are you. The H.I.V.E. just amplified what they did to me decades ago. They improved the old me."

She pulled away from him and made a sound of disgust as she wiped her hand on her pant leg, as if he had just licked her hand and blew his nose in her palm. She turned on her heels and again stormed away from him.

"I'll be at the Chateau, in our old room. I expect to see you there, my little rose bud," He called after her.

Emma didn't stop until she was home and made sure all the doors and windows were locked.

* * *

The Chateau was a cute little bed and breakfast with a total of fifty rooms in the southern part of Maine. It was set off from any main roads amongst trees. Getting a room there usually meant calling a month in advance to put in a reservation so Grant must have been planning this for awhile.

Emma shifted the duffel bag on her shoulder, walked up the stairs and in to the front living room. There was a friendly little old lady sitting behind a desk near the door who smiled and warmly welcomed Emma to the Chateau.

"Welcome to Chateau, do you have a reservation?"

She nodded. "It's under Wilson," Grant was always ballsy and reserved under his own name.

The woman nodded and checked the computer that was set up on one corner of the wooded top. "Emma Wilson?"

Emma shuddered at the use of her former name; a name she hadn't even used since she'd gotten divorced five years before. "That's me." How sadistic of him to use that name. "Do you need an ID?" She shifted the bag on her arm to open it for her wallet. She hoped there was no ID needed since she didn't have one for the name Emma Wilson. Not one that wasn't expired anyways.

"Oh no deary, your husband has already checked in. He said to give you these-" She paused in her sentence to pull a pair of heart shaped sunglasses in the color pink from a drawer in the desk. She held them so delicately they might as well have been a really expensive diadem rather than a cheap pair of sunglasses. "And I'm supposed to tell you that 'everything looks better when it's rose tinted'."

Emma forced a smile and took the glasses. "Yeah, we're having a hard time right now and hoping this fixes some of it."

She tucked the glasses into her duffel bag, took the key from the lady, and headed up to the room. She knew the layout of this place like the back of her hand. They had been there so many times. They used to come here to plan their hits from the same room throughout the five years they were married and even the two years before they tied the knot. She'd thought he was a different person back then and his change from Prince Charming into the ogre he really was is what ultimately ended their marriage.

Yet she still slept with him one last time. It was the same night the divorce papers, where she had to forge his signature, were signed. Even though she did this out of pity she had payed the ultimate price afterwards. Two months later Emma found out she was pregnant. She had more than enough money to disappear for a year before coming back on the radar to her employers. They didn't seem all too concerned with her disappearing act as it was a rather common occurrence for mercenaries to go on and off the radar.

By the time little Jaye Stewart was two-years-old, Emma knew she couldn't take care of her properly. It wasn't that she didn't have the means to, she just didn't have the heart. That and she had absolutely no desire to be a mother. Every time she looked at her daughter she only saw _him_ and she partially hated her daughter for that sole reason. Judging by the looks on their faces, Emma knew her parents were not particularly pleased but neither of them had the heart to say no to her. Since that day two years ago she hadn't seen her daughter or parents.

As if that wasn't bad enough, she had begun an affair with her employer's son, Paxton Powers, shortly after she unceremoniously dumped her daughter off onto her parents. This affair resulted in an heir for the Powers' throne. After four months of the affair starting, Emma found herself once again pregnant. Vincent Powers was the child produced by a nearly loveless affair between two equally selfish people. While Jaye was being nurtured by her doting grandparents and uncle, Vincent was handed off to the various nannies Paxton would hire so that he didn't have to deal with his own son. Emma, believing she would only ruin the boy's life, had so far limited her contact with him. The poor toddler was shown very little, if any, love or compassion by his caretakers. Emma considered a few times of also bringing Vincent to her parents as well but ultimately decided against it. They didn't need to be saddled with two of her children, one was bad enough. In Emma's perspective it wasn't like his life was going to be that terrible; he was born into an extremely wealthy family after all.

Now the bed and breakfast she was currently at didn't use the automated key cards that any average hotel would use nowadays. They still had old fashioned skeleton keys and each room only had two keys. If one were lost, it was a hundred dollar surcharge.

Emma stuck the old key into the lock and turned it, the door clicking open. Before she was even in the room, she could hear the cries of an angry mob on the television and quickly surmised that it was _Frankenstein's Monster_ on the TV.

"This movie? Again?" Emma asked as she put her bag down by the dresser as she then muttered, "You're as bad as my father."

The Queen's Room, as the room they shared was called, had only one bed. It was a beautiful room and did its name justice; a queen would feel right at home there.

"It's a ritual, you know that," Grant was lounging on the bed, eating popcorn from a bowl. "You know, hit men and mercenaries like us are a lot like Frankenstein's Monster. We're all these different parts, these different people, sown together in one big hideous form."

"And here I forgot my pitch fork and torch at home," Emma muttered, not entertained by his ramble. Though he did have a point comparing who they were to the creature on the TV. They were a bunch of created parts coming together in one person, a killing machine. The only part he was wrong on was that the monster didn't want to kill people. Well, at least not until his maker rejected him but that was a different thing. She was putting way too much thought into this. It was just some stupid ramble she'd heard multiple times before.

"The case file is on your side of the bed," Grant said, not even looking away from the flickering lights of the TV.

Emma looked around their shared room. "I don't see it on the couch."

He finally looked away, staring at her like she was stupid, then looked down at the file sitting on the bed next to him.

Emma had taken to moving pillows around on the couch, lifting the cushions and looking under them. "I still do not see that file anywhere. Have you finally lost it?" She stood and turned to look at him. He was still looking at the file on the bed. "That's not my side of the bed," She said flatly.

"_Yes it is_," His voice was firm and it sounded menacing. If Emma hadn't known better, she would have swallowed hard and taken a step back. But she did know better and she made no such movements. Actually, she stepped forward and grabbed the manila folder off the bed then walked over to the couch, taking a seat.

"Nope, _this_ is my bed since you've already claimed the actual bed."

"But we're partners," He said as he sat up, putting the half empty bowl of popcorn aside. "We're sharing a bed."

He scowled as the woman rolled her eyes. "Just because I have to work with you does not mean I have to sleep with you," She shook her head. "This isn't like the old days Grant."

Ravager growled softly and was off the bed in seconds, leaning over her, a hand tight around her throat as a warning. A warning he wouldn't follow through on. She didn't even wince, didn't even look up from the open folder on her knee, her eyes scanning over the words. He growled again, angrier this time, and tossed the folder aside, the papers and pictures scattering.

She finally looked up at him. "Do you know how long it's going to take to put all that back in order?"

Either he didn't hear what she said or he chose not to, she wasn't totally sure.

"We are working together! As a couple! And if anyone is to get wind of anything out of the ordinary, it's all over! Do you understand that Emma?!" He barked, fire in his eyes.

Admittedly, Emma was a little afraid. Okay, maybe more than a little but she was good at keeping that under wraps. If she had a dollar for each time her heart beat so loud in her ears that she couldn't hear and her palms became slick with sweat, she would be a rich woman and never have to work again. Luckily she was skilled enough to ignore it all, to hear past her heart, and slowly wipe her hands off on something and make it look nonchalant. Her choice of surface this time was Grant's chest. She pressed her hands against his shoulders, moving them down only a little as she pushed him back, away from her. His hand fell free of her neck, just proving that she had nothing to worry about. The heart beat slowed in her ears.

"I understand perfectly well, _Grant_," she nearly spat his name, like it was a poison he'd poured into her mouth. "But unless we are outside of this room, I am nothing but your work partner. I am not your wife anymore. I am not your girlfriend, I am not your lover, and I am not your sex buddy anymore. I am nothing to you but a co-worker. Do you understand _me_?" She had risen out of her seat. She was shorter than the man in front of her but she had her own air of menace when she needed or wanted it. That was probably the only thing that kept Grant from actually hurting her. He saw too much of himself in her. She pushed that kind of thinking away, not wanting to compare herself to his disgusting existence in any way.

He frowned and backed away from her, muttering something she couldn't understand as he walked over to the bed side table and picked something up. "I'm going out," He finally said in a loudness she could actually understand.

"Fine," And that was the last word she said to him for the next few days.

They moved around the room, around each other, but no one said a word. Somehow they planned out what they were going to do without uttering a word. Notes were left on tables, pamphlets that showed where they needed to be, but they never actually addressed one another.

It was the night of actually going into action that they finally spoke.

"I think we should go as husband and wife," Grant casually said, adjusting his tie. They were headed to a black tie dinner party with the senator they were aiming at. Grant had spent the time getting in good with the senator and his crew while Emma did the more mechanical part of it: getting a room to take the senator to, buying the clothing, getting guns with no paper trail attached to them. Grant had always had a way of getting people to like him. He was a charmer, a very good one. Maybe that was how Emma had fallen for him twelve years ago when she'd first met him, before she found out who he really was. She shook her head and ran a hand through her long, amber hair.

"No," It was a simple answer. She didn't want to pretend to be that happy with him.

"I already told them we were married."

Emma scowled at herself in the bathroom mirror. "Fine but I get to be the husband."

Grant laughed a short and cynical laugh. A moment later he was standing behind her in the small bathroom, his head just over her shoulder, staring at her, "I got you something to go with your dress."

"Is it a rental?" She said scathingly. "Or stolen?"

Grant frowned deeply but didn't reply to her mocking. He never did. He didn't like being mocked. He detested it actually and usually acted out about it. Not with her though, never with her. He looked at her too much as his possession. She was his and he could never hurt what was his.

He moved both hands in front of her and laid a heavily diamond encrusted necklace against her chest and pulled the two sides around her neck and did up the clasp in the back. Emma slowly reached up and touched it gently. It was beautiful. She tried but couldn't recall a time when he had ever given her anything so stunning.

"It's a Double Wing pave-encrusted pendant necklace that was handcrafted by Anita Ko herself all the way back in 2011, 18 karat white gold with 3.5 carat diamonds. It's currently valued at $55,000. The value jumped over the years because of the gold prices going through the roof. Play the part correctly and you can keep it Red."

She jumped. She hadn't noticed when but he had leaned down and, when he spoke, his lips brushed against her ear.

She changed her expression quickly from deer in the head lights to smug. "I have never messed up a job to date. You should know that, stalker," She brushed against him and left the bathroom. "We have to get going," She picked up a small purse off the couch and turned to look at him. "Or am I doing this alone?"

He walked into the bedroom with his shoulders squared, an air of self confidence swirling around him. "Now why would I send my pretty little flower into the fray alone?" He smirked as he brushed his fingers along her jaw, from her ear to her chin.

She pulled away and left the room.

He snickered as he followed her.

* * *

When Emma walked into the ballroom, she was amazed by how beautiful it was. There were two huge chandeliers hanging from the high vaulted ceilings. The light coming through the crystals that hung from it was flickering. She blinked a few times then turned her head towards Grant, though her eyes stayed on the chandeliers. "Are those lit by-"

"Candles? Yes," He nodded. "I suggested to the senator that it would add so much more class to his party if it were held by candle light rather than bright fluorescent lights. I think it's fitting, don't you?" He smirked but she didn't see it.

"You have really outdone yourself," Emma muttered. "A candle light dinner, really?" She shook her head then walked farther in the ball room, moving between tables and around people. Grant kept close to her.

"Grant! My good man!" A jolly voice stopped the both of them. Rather, it stopped Grant, who put an arm around Emma's waist and pulled her to a stop.

"Senator Gray, I was just going to look for you after showing my wife our seats," Grant smiled as he saw her shudder when being referred to as his wife.

The man, Senator Gray, smiled brightly at Emma, holding his plump hands out in front of him like he was presenting her something. "You must be Emma Wilson. Grant has spoken so much about you. He is absolutely smitten with you and I can see why," He winked.

He was a nice man though quite overweight. She was sure the suit was custom tailored just to fit his girth. He had gray hair and a gray mustache under his nose. She wondered for a brief moment who would want such a sweet guy dead. Most of the cases she was assigned to, where she had to play a role, the person was some kind of a jackass. Senator Gray seemed like a doting grandfather who took care of his own but he was a politician. Maybe that was it. He was a better candidate and someone wanted him dead.

This case may be the first one to actually make her sad.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Senator Gray," She held her hand out for him to shake. He took it, brought it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Wilson."

"Please, call me Emma, I _insist_," She didn't want him calling her any of those things but she had no choice. What would he think if she asked to be called Red?

"If you'll call me Bernard," He said with such a sweet smile.

Something was wrong here. She didn't feel right about this job and she had never felt like this while on a job before. She forced a smile to try and dismiss the thoughts.

"It's a deal, Bernard," She nodded as he smiled warmly.

"I'll let you two find your seats and mingle but I'll come find you in a little bit. I want to talk to you some more, Emma. After everything I've heard about you, I really must talk to you some more," He smiled then bid them goodbye and went on to the other guests.

"What have you told him?" She whispered sharply as he led her, hand on her lower back, towards their table.

"Nothing you can't handle darling. Remember," He smiled but she could see the sharpness behind his eyes. He was jealous and nothing ever went right when he was jealous. "_I_ taught you how to lie so you should have no problem."

It was about half an hour before everyone was settled in their seats and dinner was served. Once they'd eaten, they were free to mingle again, a dessert bar having been set up against one wall, like an all you can eat buffet. Emma eyed the large bowl of chocolate pudding but turned her attention from it quickly, knowing that wasn't her goal here. Pudding, especially chocolate, would just distract her.

"Go on, have a little fun for once, Red," Grant whispered to her.

"I have plenty of fun, Grant, but I have other things on my mind," And she didn't just mean the job. There just wasn't something right here but she didn't know what. Was this a set up of some kind? Had her bosses found out that Grant had been beating her to her jobs and they thought she wasn't any good at her job anymore? Was her higher ups working with Grant to get rid of her?

She was getting too paranoid over this. She would have noticed a set up right off the bat and she knew how her bosses worked. They didn't play with their food. Hell, she had done a few terminations herself. They were as quick and painless as possible.

"Emma, Grant, I have found you at last! I was afraid you'd wandered off!" Emma smiled, feeling oddly relaxed with the senator there. Like a break in the tension.

"I would never leave without getting to talk to you first," Emma said with a pleasant smile, a real smile, something she hadn't done in years.

Bernard grinned then looked at Grant. "Do you mind if I steal your darling wife for a little bit? I want to show her around and have a nice little chat with her. I promise I'll return her by midnight."

Grant sent a look at Emma then back at Bernard and nodded. "Of course. Don't let her lose one of her glass slippers."

They laughed, Bernard's being loud and boisterous yet Grant's bore hidden trouble. Emma actually shivered; she had heard that laugh many of times. It wasn't a good one.

"This way, darling lady," Bernard said and offered his arm, leading her away from Grant and into the crowd.

They talked as they walked, stopping only to let Bernard introduce her to some big shot or other.

"Have you seen the gardens?" he asked as they neared the doors.

She shook her head. "No I haven't. Are they nice?"

"Oh ho ho, young lady, you have not lived! Your husband must not take care of you," He smirked and of course he was just joking but Emma couldn't help but agree with him.

"You have no idea," She muttered. Luckily enough he was too excited in leading her out to the garden to hear what she had said. She wondered how he would have reacted if he had actually heard what she said. He seemed like the kind of guy who would have laughed nervously at first, thinking that she was joking and when he saw that she wasn't, he would whisk her away to safety and have Ravager put in jail or something of the sort. She was glad then that he didn't hear her.

"...but the garden actually burned in the 1940's and it's said that for years after that, the ground was black with the ashes of all the flowers that had been here before the fire. I wish I had been alive to see that, what a sight! Don't you agree?"

Emma blinked but then nodded with an absent smile. "Of course."

He smiled and she relaxed. He went bustling on with his conversation about how the garden had been barren for years and then like a phoenix from the fire, the flowers just grew again, or at least that was the tale.

"Oh I am sorry, Emma, would you excuse me for a moment? I need to speak with my accountant over there about my retirement plan for a brief moment."

"Retirement?" She asked, confused. He should have been running for president if someone wanted him dead enough to hire both her and Ravager.

Bernard nodded. "Yes, retirement. Once my term is up at the end of the month, I am going into retirement. This is my retirement party. Didn't Grant tell you?"

She laughed nervously. "He might have mentioned it but I've been so preoccupied I must have missed it."

He smiled sweetly. "You're just like my wife. That's a compliment just so you know," He nodded then excused himself again and left.

Once the older man was out of ear shot, Emma made sure no one else was around and pulled her cellphone out of her little purse. She pressed in three numbers then the green phone button and put it to her ear. "Boss, I need a favor."

"_What's up, Red?"_ The man was cheery, as he usually was, and normally that made Emma more relaxed, but not this time. The something that had been bothering her before was back.

"I need to know the name of the person who contracted this hit," She whispered, keeping a look out for any prying ears.

"_Give me a minute and I'll let you know._"

She smiled. Boss was always such a help, never questioning her motives behind anything she asked of him. She could have almost loved him for that.

"_Joseph Wade,"_ He said simply.

Emma's eyes went wide. "Joseph Wade?"

"_Mmmhmm Joseph Wade. Says here he took out the hit the day before it was given to you and Ravager."_

"Thank you, Boss," She hung up and put her phone away. She knew why it all seemed so wrong now. Boy, were her employers getting the full riot act from her.

It was a set up, though not by her bosses to get rid of her, but by Grant himself. Joseph Wade was an alias he had used, before they'd gotten married, on the jobs they'd worked together. He wasn't as careless with his name back then. He wasn't as cocky either. He had seemed so normal back then; which was entirely a facade he had constructed to lure her in. She almost wished for those days again. _Almost_. With what she knew now she would never want to go back.

That was when she noticed how quiet it was behind her. Everyone had stopped talking. Had they heard her conversation?

She turned to check the scene out but there was an explosion of pain on the back of her head as everything went black.

* * *

When she opened her eyes again, she was slouched forward in a chair, her neck stiff from how her head had been hanging. She slowly sat up, groaning, and took in her surrounding. Then she noticed the restraints. She was tied to the chair. There were a few loops around her chest, a few more around her legs both above and below the knees. She wiggled her hands and, yes, her wrists were tied together. She huffed softly.

"Emma? You're awake?" The voice was concerned even through the pain she could hear in it. It was Bernard.

She looked over and nodded. "Bernard, I have to tell you something. The man pretending to be my husband and myself were sent to your party to kill you. But something wasn't right and I-"

"You're damn right something wasn't right! Good old Bernard here had to mention his retirement! And I was stupid enough to think it would be safe for you to go off with him," The voice made both of them shiver in fear. It was one thing when Emma could move and fend for herself if need be but he had the advantage here and he was pissed off. She could hear it. Last time she'd heard that tone in his voice he slaughtered everyone on that floor of the hospital instead of just the doctor. If there was one thing he hated more than being mocked, it was his plans being ruined.

"Grant, what's going on?" Emma asked.

"Oh, it was all pretty simple, Red! Pretty goddamn simple! You and I would work this job together, we would kill good old Bernard here," He stepped out of the darkness and grabbed the older man's chin, shaking his head with his hand "And you would see that I'm not as messed up as you thought I was and would fall back into my arms and we would be happy again!"

"But you're as screwed up as-"

He cut her off, roughly pushing Bernard's head away like trash. "Of course I am, Red! What makes you think I would be any different, huh? Was it the necklace? The way I let you have your space? Even after that whole talking to the head fiasco? I slipped up there, I know I did, but you just..." He gripped his blond hair at both temples and made a small growling sound. "You just piss me off so bad! It's like you know my buttons and you push them on purpose!"

She opened her mouth to contradict that but couldn't and just closed her mouth again. After their divorce, she had started pushing his buttons whenever she saw him which, after two months, was something that never happened. He had disappeared, at least that's what Emma thought.

"But I can't help but love you!" He yelled then squatted in front of her, his expression soft as he reached up and gently touched her cheek. "So beautiful, so soft, so angelic. You were my all, my everything," He said softly, his eyes following his fingers along her jaw. "But then you had to go and ruin it!" He became angry and his attention went from soft and loving to his nails digging into her flesh. She cried out in pain.

"Get your hands off of her!" Bernard yelled, hoping to pull the attention away from her. It worked. Grant quickly pivoted and back handed the older man.

"Shut up! Don't you know it's rude to interrupt?"

Emma frowned but took the chance she had while his attention was elsewhere to start wiggling her arms and wrists. She knew if she worked it enough, one hand and then the other would come free. At all of the things he was good at, Grant had never been good at tying wrists. Really he wasn't very good at tying people up in general. That had always been her job when they did things like this.

"We're going to play a game."

Emma froze with wide eyes. She was half glad to see that her ex-husband had his back to her and wasn't talking to her. She remembered _The Game_ and it was one she swore to herself she would never play. She felt bad for the senator though. He had a doozie coming to him. She went back to wiggling and tugging her wrists. The faster she got them undone the faster she could help the poor, old man.

His voice became soft, like he was explaining something to a child. "See I've got these dice," She heard the shake of the two red dice he had in his hands. "I'm going to shove them in your mouth, since you can't use your hands and you're going to spit them out. It's alright to get some slobber on them, just don't scratch them with your teeth, these are my lucky dice," He turned and she froze. "You remember these, don't you Emma? You got them for me for our one year anniversary."

She scowled. "You still have those old things? I picked them up at the dollar store on my way back from a job. I had honestly forgotten about our anniversary and I needed a last minute gift." She shrugged like it didn't matter.

Ravager growled and barked, "Stop mocking me!" His hand against her cheek made a sharp sound and left behind a tingly stinging sensation. She shook her head to try and clear her vision.

"I said leave her alone!" Bernard yelled. He was such a kind man. It gave her all the more incentive to help him get out of this alive.

Grant turned back to face the senator. "Where was I? Oh right, you're going to spit the dice out," He was back to the soft talk. "Each combination of numbers is something different I do to you from bashing your toes to cutting out your tongue. If you get doubles, then you're safe for that roll. Snake eyes and I set you free. Now I am a man of my word. I know you probably don't believe that but I am. If doubles is the first thing you get then I will let you go. Or if you get it after I break both your knees, cut out your tongue, and blow out both your elbows, you can just go. No more harm done. But you can't use it to set little Red here go. I have other plans for her."

Emma heard him snicker and she didn't like it. She swallowed as a shiver ran down her spine. She knew what he did to his female victims.

"Ready Bernie?" It wasn't actually a question. He was now shoving the dice in the old man's mouth, holding his mouth closed to let him 'shake the dice' around.

Emma bit her lip as she tugged on her wrists, biting back the cry of pain as the rope dug into her wrist, rubbing it raw. He had gotten better at doing this whole thing but she could feel it loosen just a little. He wasn't that good, not as good as her.

Bernard's scream made her stop and look up from her knees. Ravager had taken a bat to one of his legs, the bone crunching under his scream.

"Again," he said as he picked up the dice and shoved it in his mouth again.

She went back to her tugging and wiggling, ignoring the repeated yells of pain and protest from Bernard, keeping her mind on the tight restraints. But they were becoming looser, she could feel it.

Finally her hands popped free. She caught the rope before it could fall and make a noise on the ground to alert her captor to her release. But now she needed to figure out what she was going to use to attack him.

First thing first, she needed to untie the rest of her body. She brought her arms around and tugged on the knot for the rope around her chest. It came free easily and she moved on. As she leaned down to untie her ankles from the chair, she felt a weight pull at the back of her neck. She reached up and touched the necklace he'd given her. He probably enjoyed the way it looked on her too much to remove it. The chain was too frail though. It would break immediately.

Her eyes fall to the rope next to her feet. She smirked softly. That would work perfectly

Once she'd gotten her ankles untied, looking up to make sure Grant was busy with Bernard, she picked the rope up off the ground. Quietly she stood, one end of the rope in each hand. She waited for Grant to stand again after shoving the dice in the older man's mouth again. She held her breath and pulled the rope over his head and tightly around his throat.

Grant gasped and tossed but she held onto him, pulling the rope back with so much force that she felt it beginning to cut into his skin. He choked and clawed at it.

In a last ditch attempt he threw his head back, the back of his skull coming on contact with the top of Emma's head. She yelped and her grip on the rope fell away as she stumbled back.

"Dammit!" She yelled, holding the top of her head.

Grant turned and panted, trying to catch his breath. "You...bitch!" He gasped and stumbled towards her. "Get...over...here...bitch..." He reached out for her with both arms.

Emma backed up, feeling a lot like she was running from a zombie. But she knew better than to take that for advantage. He would gain his footing again momentarily and, when he did, she would be as close to death as she ever had been.

He brought his hands back and rubbed at his eyes, the black fading from his vision, his breath returning to him. He looked at her. "Oh you little bitch!" He turned and walked back to where Bernard was sitting and grabbed the baseball bat. "I'm going to get you, Red! My little pet!" He laughed and turned around, bat raised for use.

The room was empty.

He blinked in confusion and walked forward slowly. They were just in his basement or at least the basement of the house he was renting for the time being. "Oh Emma!" He called in a sing-song voice, lips pulled into a smirk. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

There were a few piles of boxes and a furnace in the corner. He took a swing at the first pile of boxes, sending them falling to the floor like children's blocks. "Not there? Well how about here?" He moved to the next stack and knocked then over. "Hmm not there either. Don't worry, I'll find you. I'll make sure it's a quick death, my precious. So come on out."

"I'm back here, you bastard."

He turned, bat ready to fly but he was met with a face full of flame. Emma had found an old can of hair spray and a lighter scattered around the basement. Grant screamed and dropped the bat, his hands swatting at his face as he tried to put out the searing pain.

Emma took the chance to jump forward and grab the long club. She tossed the can and lighter aside and gripped the bat's handle. She surged forward, with a war cry that could put her mother's to shame, and swung. The bat hit the side of Grant's skull and upon impact broke right in two. He froze, stared at her, then his irises vanished as they rolled backwards and he hit the floor.

She stared down at him, waiting for him to get up again. When he didn't she back tracked to where Bernard was still tied to his chair. With his accelerated healing factor, there was no telling how fast Ravager would recovery and be ready for round two. So after quickly getting his binds untied, she helped the senator up and with one arm over her shoulder she limped with him up the stairs.

"You were really married to that animal?" Bernard asked as they exited the house.

"Unfortunately," Was her answer. She noticed when he nervously looked behind them, "Don't worry, you're safe now. Look, we're going to go down the street and I'll call for help. You stay put until the police arrive. I don't care what you tell them but I was never here."

Bernard stiffly nodded, "You saved my life and doing so would make us even. I've never wished this on anyone but he deserves it. Make sure that you one day kill that man."

"I can only dream of doing so," She replied.

As they slowly made their way down the street, a bloodied figure slipped out of the house and stood in the middle of the sidewalk for a few moments. "Feel safe for now, Emma. It won't last long. I _will_ get you back!" And then he was gone, like a leaf in the wind.


	8. Losing Perspective

Emma was physically shaking when she looked in the mirror and saw, for the first time, not a killer but a murderer.

The sink water ran loud like a waterfall in the small and cramped bathroom and she struggled to scrub her hands clean. She tried to scrub away the sinking feeling in her chest but to no avail. She stared and wondered _why_. By far this was not the first time she had taken a life and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. She met her own emerald eyes in the reflection, wondering if she is really even the same person as the one staring back at her.

The woman inside of the glass was pretty, beautiful even. Her amber hair was glossy and hung heavily down her back. Her eyes were intense and she was always glaring, so it seemed. She was stone-cold and hardened. She could slit someone's throat and not bat an eye. She could torture someone for answers or just for fun and lose no sleep. This woman in the mirror did not know the girl standing before her in the small bathroom. The woman in the mirror could easily crush this girl with only a glance.

The girl averted her eyes and focused on her hands. Even if it was only a figment of her imagination and wasn't truly there, the blood of another mercenary named Jennifer was caked underneath her nails. She didn't personally know this woman but she had killed her. She could have had a brother, like she did. She could have had a mother and father, like she did. She could have had kids, like she did. She could have even been the light of someone's life, like she used to be.

She scrubbed harder.

Of course, she doesn't know if Jennifer ever had any family. She only knows that her bosses paid her an attractive sum of money to rid the world of Miss Jennifer, the outdated and now unneeded mercenary. Emma completed the job and the pocket of her jeans was now swollen with a wad of hundred dollar bills.

As she picked at the underside of her nails she wondered _why in the hell_ she was so hot and bothered about this kill. She glanced at her own reflection and could feel a tug in her chest. She knows exactly why she feels the way she does. The shoe could have easily been on the other foot. She could have been the one assassinated just a few hours ago. Every day she had the chance of being assassinated. A younger and better worker could come along and she would be next on the chopping block. The woman in the mirror glared at her and seemed to spit: _you damn coward_.

Her eyes moved away once again in embarrassment. She knew that this feeling inside of her was unreasonable but she could not stop it from festering. She began to think about Jennifer and her muffled screams as she struggled initially.

There was no elaborate fight or plan for that matter. Emma had simply broken into the woman's forty-fourth floor penthouse and held a pillow over her head.

She never really felt the need to be unnecessarily evil. Sure, if Jennifer had put up a fight then she would have made her wish she'd never lived. She was only sleeping and Emma knew there was no need to prolong her stay in the forty-fourth floor penthouse. So Emma had taken her gun and shot the woman through the pillow. She did not shoot her not once, not twice, but three times. Emma tended to hate the other mercenaries because she believed that they had evil hearts. They didn't care who they killed or why like she did. But now, whenever she looked at herself, all she saw was pure evil. This was not who she wanted to become or be.

She dared to steal a glance at the mirror once more and the twinge was back. The woman inside the glass still sported a stony glare, aimed directly at her. She rolled her eyes and thought, _'Well it's just me I'm looking at, isn't it?'_

She dried her hands and exited the small bathroom. She felt the hard shell of the woman in the mirror mold over her own bones and skin, like a snake molting and renewing its skin. She refused to let anyone see her as the small girl outside of the mirror, even if it meant being forever trapped below the layers of the facade that she had fabricated over the years. As she walked down the empty hallway, she reached a simple conclusion and there was a thought that haunted her as she left the small bathroom.

Perhaps it was simply the woman in the mirror who did not know _herself_ anymore.


	9. Guilt

Emma inhaled deeply and adjusted her sight as she sighed deeply, "It's just another job. You can do this."

This was the mantra she had been repeating to herself more and more often these days. Maybe it was just that the years had taken their toll on her. The sky was dark yet was brightly lit up by the neon lights and advertisements of the Las Vegas strip. Her head was pounding from the lights.

The migraines were back and this one was worse than the one she had earlier in the day. For the past few years Emma suffered from chronic migraines; she blamed it on the stress of her job and her constant run-ins with Ravager. She tried to ignore them the best she could. She had just gone a few months without one but now it seemed they were coming back and even worse than before. This time the migraines were accompanied by mood swings that were driving her insane. The pounding was so loud she could feel the vibrations in her ears and her vision blurred. She shook her head, trying to collect herself. This was not the time to lose it. She had a job to do.

Once again, she adjusted her sight but not the sight that most would think of. She peered through the scope of her M24 Sniper Rifle. Today her target was an older man, who went by the name Little Petey". Little Petey was a bad man and not even a debatable bad man. He was a known serial killer that got off on some lame technicality so the families of the victims, who were just college students, were left to suffer. And those were just the ones that had been connected to him. He even looked scummy.

One could call what Emma was doing a vigilante and heroic act but she got paid for it. So was she considered a hit woman still? In her liberal opinion, she was getting rid of the scum of the Earth. She didn't run around in a costume, didn't disguise her face, and didn't wear a cape that would give away her position. Her body was starting to ache from waiting for this guy but the waiting would be worth it. Watching "Scumbag Petey" collapse _out of nowhere_ from a bullet to the brain would be a lovely sight.

She had read and memorized all of his patterns. She had even been tailing him for over a week now. She knew exactly where he would be, at what time, and what he would be wearing. She was all set up and now all that was left was to wait for him to strut his way out of some low rank strip club with the clever name of the Can-Can Club.

"You're just getting rid of a horrible person. You're doing the right thing. You're doing everyone a favor," She whispered to herself, things that she hardly even believed anymore. To clarify, going to a strip joint wasn't what made this man the lowest of the low. It's everything else about him that could make anyone's skin crawl.

He stumbled out of the club, escorted by two guards. She couldn't make out what they were saying but they weren't happy. Hugging the wall for balance he found his way to his sorry excuse for a car. _Alone_. He fumbled with his keys, dropping them to the ground in his drunken stupor.

This was it. Her sight adjusted, the magazine loaded. She inhaled and pulled trigger.

There was a loud bang from the gun as the man fell to the ground dead.


End file.
